Rancher's Woman Read online

  Bridget smiled. “My ma always said that a lady won’t have her baby until she’s so miserable that the idea of actually giving birth is preferable to staying pregnant another moment.” A shadow of fear crossed over her face. “I’m not there yet.”

  Esther knew that her friend was terrified of birthing but didn’t know why, though really all women approached it with some measure of trepidation. Another logical reason to avoid entanglements, she reminded herself. Having a baby was dangerous and the chance of dying was great. She really did hope she would be able to be there for Bridget when labor began.

  They were each lost in thought for a moment. Esther tried to imagine what it would be like to live on a ranch. She hoped she would have a real bedroom and not just a corner. If it was too hard or awful, she’d come back. Having made up her mind for a contingency plan she relaxed.

  “Esther,” Bridget said softly. “If it doesn’t work out you will always have a job here at the laundry or at my house, no matter what.”

  “Thank you, but I have a feeling it will be just fine.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Instead of doing everything he had wanted in town the day before, Jachym was forced to return to his ranch directly after speaking with Mr. Novákov so that he could prepare the beef. It was already butchered, and aged, but was in the ice house and would have to be brought out and wrapped to be transported. He had been sorely tempted to reject the old man’s offer, but the truth was his business wasn’t growing as fast as he’d hoped and he needed to move his stores of beef before the weather got warm. He hoped the new employee would be able to get things organized so that it ran smoother.

  Smith, the foreman was nowhere to be found, as usual, and the sun was already rising in the sky. Jachym stood outside the door to his house, a low slung building that hugged the earth, its thick earthen walls providing plenty of insulation. He’d made it differently than the humble soddies many poor settlers lived in. Rather than simply stacking blocks of the thick rooted soil, and roofing it, he’d first constructed a post and beam building, with the layers stacked in between the upright posts. On the inside it was plastered. It was a good, snug house, but no better or warmer than the buildings he’d erected for his crew. He looked in the direction of the foreman’s small cabin. It was at one end of the bunkhouse. No smoke even came from the chimneys of either building.

  Anger flooded him. They must be still sleeping. What was wrong with these men? He paid a good wage and expected a day’s work out of them but they seemed to have their own ideas of what they would do. As far as Smith went, he seldom did anything other than berate the men, which didn’t help morale.

  Jachym’s fist bounced off the door with the force of his striking it. No one could sleep through that racket, he thought and waited a moment while slow movements stirred inside. The door opened slowly and there stood his foreman, dressed only in longjohns, scratching his unshaven face.

  “I need some men to load my wagon. I sold a side of beef.”

  “Hold yer horses. I’ll get someone out right away.” He turned back inside and Jachym followed.

  While Smith pulled on clothes over the long underwear, and laced up his boots, Jachym tapped one foot on the ground. “Why are you sleeping so late, anyway?”

  “Me and the boys was up late playing cards.” He took a swig off some indefinable liquid in a mason jar. You said you were gonna be staying in town over night. Didn’t spect you back so early.” He belched and pointed at the door. “Well, come one. You’re in such an all fired hurry but now you jest want to chat.”

  Two men were woken and sent out to load the beef that Jachym had already wrapped. They grumbled and sent angry glances in their boss’s direction, not making any attempt to hide their disdain from him.

  Smith looked in the back of the wagon and saw the box was empty. “Where’s the stores you was gonna git yesterday? I gave you that list of things we need.”

  Biting down angry words, the rancher explained, though it rankled him to do so since he was the employer and shouldn’t have to justify his decisions. “Since we have to move the meat before it thaws, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I’ll get the things on the list today. When I come back I’ll be bringing a new employee, too.”

  “Whatca go and hire someone else for? I’ll tell ya if we need another man.”

  The man’s whining was really beginning to get to Jachym and he struggled to keep his reply calm. “This isn't another hand. It’s a housekeeper and manager.”

  “Housekeeper? Woo wee and la te da,” the old man said in a high pitched voice, clearly trying to goad Marek. “I ain’t never heard of a housekeeper on a ranch before but I spose you foreigners gotta do everything different like. Where’s he gonna sleep? Don’t tell me I gotta share my house with him.”

  After counting to ten, Jachym felt like he could speak without throttling Smith. “The housekeeper will have a room in my house.”

  “Why?” He squinted one eye and peered at his boss.

  “What do you mean, why? It’s none of your business, but if you must know, the housekeeper is a woman.”

  “What?” Smith’s eyes got as round as a matched pair of full moons, huge and luminous, rheumy from his drunk of the night before. “Did ya up and git married?”

  “No, she’s to be my housekeeper and manager, not my wife.”

  “So she’s yer kept woman?”

  “No! She’s my employee.”

  Smith looked sly and turned his head away but kept his eyes sharply focused on Jachym. “I’m yer employee and I ain't sleeping in yer house.”

  Marek climbed into the seat of the wagon and looked down on Smith. The two hands who had loaded the beef had already slunk away. “Your work is outdoors and her work will be indoors.”

  “I bet it will,” the old man yelled as the wagon pulled out of the farmyard. “I just bet it will.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There wasn’t much to pack. Esther had walked up to her old home, a soddie on the north end of town, and taken a few things she treasured, wrapped carefully in her clothes, and stuffed into one of the laundry bags. She stood in the doorway and looked around. She’d spent a year living in that place, but it had never been home. She didn’t plan on coming back to it, even if it didn’t work out on Marek’s ranch.

  With the heavy sack over her shoulder she walked back to the hotel to wait on the porch for the rancher to arrive to fetch her.

  When his wagon pulled up he nodded at her briefly but went on inside without any other words. She stood there awkwardly waiting, unsure what she should do. A few moments later Therese came out with Jack right behind her. “Oh, there you are.” she said to Esther. “I’m going to get Hunter to come help Jack unload this meat.” She jumped off the edge of the porch and nearly ran across the street to the smithy.

  Esther looked at Jack. He looked at her, then away, then back, then shrugged. She thought it might be funny if she didn’t have so much depending upon him hiring her. “Is there anything I can do while we’re waiting?”

  He fished around in the pocket of his long duster. “This is the shopping list my foreman gave me yesterday. If you would go over to the mercantile and get those things, I’ll be there with the wagon as soon as we get this unloaded.”

  Esther glanced down at the chicken scratches that passed for writing. It was almost undecipherable.

  Jack stepped closer and leaned over a little to look at the paper. “I never even read it. I know there aren’t much stores left on the ranch from winter. If there’s anything you will need just add it in.”

  “Like what?” She saw beans and cornmeal, flour and molasses. “Do you have salt and other spices? Sugar? Coffee?”

  He shook his head. “Just assume there is nothing and order up what you’ll need. It will all get used eventually.”

  ***

  The wagon was full to the top of box rails. Esther had nearly cleaned out the store. The store owner Lucy Price had asked who the goods were for and when E
sther explained, Lucy’s mouth got tight and she never said another word. Even when Jack paid and loaded the wagon, Lucy had kept quiet. Esther didn’t care. She’d weathered the bad opinions of the town for a year, she could handle this.

  The day was a little breezy, and Esther pulled her shawl closer to her neck. The prairie was on the verge of greening, a slight tinge like watercolors across the distance. It reminded her of a year before when she had been heading in the opposite direction, toward Deadwood.

  She’d had such high hopes, believing in a happily ever after ending. Somehow it had gone terribly wrong and she’d ended up in one of the soddies, supporting herself on the coins and gold dust miners would give her.

  “We’re almost there,” Jack said, interrupting her thoughts. “Maybe we should go over your duties.”

  Esther got very still. Whatever he said next would determine whether or not she would stay. Bridget was smart and she thought it sounded like a bad situation. Esther held her breath and waited for him to continue.

  “The house is dirty. I haven’t been a good housekeeper.” He looked over at her and one side of his mouth turned up a little. It wasn’t a full fledged smile, but it was on the way to one. “I suppose I don’t know what all needs to done. I’m counting on you to figure that out and then tell me.”

  “Surely you must have some sort of idea.”

  He pointed off into the distance where a group of buildings huddled together. “There’s my ranch.” He spent a moment contemplating it, or perhaps considering her question. “I know there’s cleaning that needs to be done. And the grounds are a mess. The foreman is supposed to oversee a cook but as far as I can tell the men have been cooking for themselves.”

  “Do you want me to cook for the men?” She hoped not. That would be practically a full time job right there.

  “No, I think if you could tell me how to manage it all, I can delegate.”

  This was a twist, she thought, and almost laughed out loud. For one thing, it was obvious he had no idea of her former profession in that old, rough soddie. He thought she was a proper young lady. “So what you’re saying is you want me to tell you what to do?” She spoke slowly.

  He nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly.” This time he did smile. “Just tell me what I should say to the men, and help me get it all back on track.”

  Esther looked away from him, and tried to keep from laughing. He seemed so gruff but he was clueless.

  When they pulled into the farmyard, no one came out to greet them. Jack hoisted her bag of belongings over his shoulder and motioned her toward the house. She paused at the door, a stout, panel of wood with a tiny shuttered glass window, and ran her hand over the smooth wood. He gestured her forward and they went inside.

  Later, Esther stood in the kitchen and nearly wept. While her bedroom was fairly clean, it had obviously not been used at all, the rest of the house was a disaster, but the kitchen was the worst of all. She rolled up her sleeves and began piling dirty dishes up.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A cold wind was sweeping across the ranch. Jachym looked up at the clouds gathering overhead. In Dakota Territory it could snow right up to the beginning of summer, so he wasn’t surprised by the sudden change in weather.

  He had traded his riding duster for a more serviceable and warmer leather jacket and was again searching for his foreman. Smith was supposed to repair the fence on the eastern pasture before they moved cattle in.

  In just a few days the ranch hands were going to meet up in Nebraska with a ranch on the northern side of the Union Pacific. Because the railroad didn’t connect any further north and Jachym didn’t have a large enough operation to justify the expense, the selling ranch wouldn’t be bringing the beeves all the way into Dakota Territory. His men would drive the new cattle home from the rendezvous.

  Time was short and every minute had to be spent preparing for the new stock. The hour the rancher spent looking for his foreman was one less task that that would be done on schedule. When he finally tracked Smith down, he found him far afield, and apparently not doing anything useful. Jachym called out to him as he approached on his horse. “Smith, why aren’t your repairing that fence?”

  The older man looked off into the distance, thinking or stalling, Jachym wasn’t sure. “If it ain’t done it means the men didn’t do it. They’s a lazy bunch of no-gooders.”

  “Who did you send to do the work?”

  The foreman again paused, long enough that his boss could tell he was trying to decide which cowboy he’d sacrifice to keep himself out of trouble. “The thing is that I told them to do the regular things, but they jest would rather drink and play cards.”

  “Did you just announce to the entire group that someone needed to do something, and now that no one has done anything, you think that absolves you?”

  “I don’t know nuthin about being absolved but I know a good hand understands what needs to be done and does it.”

  In frustration and anger, Marek wheeled his horse around and headed back to the farmyard considerably faster than he’d left.

  His ranching experience was limited and he wasn’t sure if the way Smith did things was the correct method. In his own life, though not farming per se, he often saw leaders give orders to men that were as vague as what the foreman said he’d done. It gave those under command the freedom to use their own judgement. However, if things weren’t getting accomplished, that seemed to not be the best course of action in this case. What if an army captain told his troops to go somewhere and do what was best and they all decided to quit? Someone must have the last word; for the ranch hands that would be Smith but for the ranch as a whole, that was Marek himself He headed toward the bunkhouse.

  Inside the snug building the men were lounging about. A couple were sitting at a long table working on their saddles, reinforcing stitching. Others were playing cards, reclining on their bunks. One was reading what looked to be a dime novel. Jachym put his hands on his hips and looked at his employees, and waited for them to notice him.

  The door behind him opened and Smith pushed himself inside and past his boss. Jachym hardly spared him a glance but it spurned him to action. “You,” he said pointing at one of the men at the table. “Tell me how you do things around here?”

  The cowboy, older than most in his late twenties, looked up. “I’m not sure what you mean. Can you be a little more specific?”

  Smith waved his hands wildly in the air. “Don’t you answer him.”

  Marek glanced once at the foreman and shook his head in disgust. “I am the boss here. What I want to know is if you are given specific orders of tasks that need to be done, or if all ranches let the men decide what and when jobs should be accomplished.”

  “Yer undermining my authority, Marek,” Smith growled.

  Jachym ignored him and looked pointedly at the man he’d singled out. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Andrew Lincoln, but people mostly call me Andy.”

  “Okay, Andy, can you answer my question?”

  The hand’s focus darted briefly at Smith but returned to Marek and stayed steady. “I’ve worked on a few ranches and I can honestly say I’ve never seen one run quite like this.”

  Jachym’s stomach sank. “Can you be more specific?” he said, repeating the man’s own words.

  Andy stood in front of his boss, rubbed his chin while looking down, and finally seemed to come to some conclusion. He looked up, again holding steady eye contact. “Most foremen give direction. They have a punch list of things that need to be done, such as a repair to a fence, and other regular tasks that are ongoing, like riding the fence line, and dealing with the needs of the stock.”

  “Yer fired!” Smith was hopping from one foot to the other, his face a strange shade of purple.

  Jachym continued with his inquiry. “And has Smith given you those sorts of jobs - ongoing and critical?”

  Andy stood firm. “No sir.”

  The foreman jumped forward, his wiry body flying with
the momentum of rage, and slammed his fist into Andy’s face. Blood spurted from the cowboy’s nose.

  Jachym grabbed Smith by his collar and hauled him backward, until he could spin him around. Once the man was facing him he slammed both of his hands flat against the old man’s shoulders sending him back against the wall with so much force he sank to the ground, senseless. Once his eyes fluttered open, Jachym breathing heavily, said calmly, “Smith, you are fired. Get your things and move out now.”

  A noise at the door behind him, brought Jachym in a full circle, and he turned toward the noise. There stood Esther, her face bleached white with shock, the terror of what she had witnessed obvious.

  The foreman had risen slowly and dusted his pants off. Glaring at all the faces watching him he went to the door and put up a hand to push Esther out of his way. She jumped toward Jachym just as his arms came out to grab her, and he drew her to his chest, safely out of Smith’s reach.

  As the fired foreman flung himself through the door and left the bunkhouse, the reality of what had just taken place slammed into the rancher. It was the worst possible time to lose his lead man.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The house was really very well thought out and lovely once Esther had cleaned and organized. She’d taken several loaves of bread and a large kettle of beef stew to the bunkhouse for the men’s meal, still unsure of who would be responsible for feeding them. Though she would have liked to make something less ordinary for Jack’s supper, she resorted to holding back some of the same fare she’d made the men, but had baked a simple peach cobbler for his dessert.

  The freshly cleaned shelves in the larder were now full of brightly colored canning jars of fruits and vegetables. Bags of potatoes, flour, and beans leaned against the walls. Other containers held spices and from the ceiling hung garlands of onions and garlics, braided into ropes. She lifted a salt cellar from its spot and brought it out into the kitchen. Jack might favor a more savory flavor and she wanted him to feel comfortable about adding the seasoning to his serving.